


binary star

by lvsr



Series: we belong to the stars [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Pining, Steve Rogers-centric, Two Cats - Freeform, World War II, bucky barnes is one soft bitch, steve rogers' depression drawings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 23:27:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19896127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lvsr/pseuds/lvsr
Summary: There is a drawing that Steve stuffed underneath his dresser drawer six months ago. When Steve wants to look at it, he drops to his hands and knees and runs his palm along the wooden floor until he comes across a sheet of thick paper. Carefully, as not to crease the corners, Steve pulls out the drawing.





	binary star

**Author's Note:**

> for cyrene & gillian <3

## binary star

  
  
n. A system of two stars in which one star revolves around the other or both revolve around a common center.

— — —

I looked out the window and said

 _this doesn’t look that much different from home_ ,

because it didn’t,

but then I noticed the black sky and all those lights.

— **from** **Richard Siken** ** _,_** **_Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out_**

— — —

### Brooklyn Heights, Brooklyn — 1937

There is a drawing that Steve stuffed underneath his dresser drawer six months ago. When Steve wants to look at it, he drops to his hands and knees and runs his palm along the wooden floor until he comes across a sheet of thick paper. Carefully, as not to crease the corners, Steve pulls out the drawing. The paper is top-notch — much to Steve’s chagrin. Bucky had saved and saved until he could enter the expensive supplies store on the other side of town and buy Steve a sketchbook for his eighteenth birthday. 

The paper is still pristine, not so much as bent or wrinkled on any edge. Steve runs his fingers down the smooth surface of the sheet, tracing the inked lines. 

He won’t show this to Bucky. This one is his. 

The drawing is of Bucky — and it is an extremely accurate one at that. He stands slightly to the right of frame — shirtless — and with a cigarette dangling between his lips. 

The distance between the bottom of Bucky’s nose and the top of his lips is precise. One side of his lips is raised slightly higher than the other. His lips are parted just enough to hold a smoke between them. His posture is just slightly hunched — a bad habit. The length from the bottom of palm to fingertip is measured out. His right arm is bent, his hand on his hip. His hair is curled in all the right places — including the pesky piece of baby hair that is curled right above Bucky’s left ear. Steve sometimes imagines raking his fingers through Bucky’s hair. There is an extra line in Bucky’s right eyelid. His eyelashes are long on top but few on the bottom. His eyebrows curve along with his eyes. Steve rakes his eyes over the strong plane of his abdomen and Bucky’s low-slung trousers. The ridges of his collarbones stick out against the few freckles on his neck. 

Once Steve has recaptured every detail, he sinks back down to all fours and carefully slides the paper back into its position — under the dresser drawer. 

This drawing is his own selfish wants— _want,_ really. One that he has spent years and years dazedly dreaming about — knowing that he will never get it.

It is the closest he can get to the real thing. 

— — —

Steve remembers drawing the picture. It took him three months. He remembers flipping his sketchbook open and resting it against his thighs, with his knees drawn up to his chest. 

“What’re ‘ya drawin’, Stevie?” Bucky had asked, over and over. 

“None of your business, Barnes,” Steve had replied, like clockwork. 

“Aw come on, Stevie, show me somethin’!” Bucky would insist. 

Steve would shake his head, a small smile playing at his lips. “Nah.”

It took Steve three months to capture the love of his life onto paper. It didn’t seem like it was nearly enough time — they will never have enough time. Steve had put love into every stroke of the drawing, every inked line, every wrinkle in his clothes. 

And maybe, _maybe_ , the Bucky in Steve’s drawings loves him back — wakes him up with a kiss — wraps his body around Steve so they fit like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle — like uneven brackets — like lovers. 

Sometimes, when Bucky comes home with a girl, and they make enough noise to have the neighbors pounding on the wall, Steve pretends that it’s him that Bucky is with. He lies stomach down on his bed — pretends to be asleep — and, God he’s so queer — _listens_. And he pretends that he is the hapless dame writhing on the bed next to him. Everything he does is pretend. Pretends he has a future, pretends he has a chance, pretends he isn’t in love with the one person he can’t be with. 

Other times, Bucky will come home reeking of booze and sweat and some gal’s perfume, drunk off his ass, and he’ll curl around Steve’s body and sometimes Steve thinks he imagines the soft press of lips on the back of his neck and as he lies there, he is content for a transitory moment in time where he pretends that he lives in a universe where Bucky loves him too. 

— — —

When the air turns colder, and October is right around the corner, Steve gets laid off at the greengrocer. 

It’s not surprising. 

Steve is— was, an unreliable worker, what with his constant illness and all. And his boss was a dick.

Unfortunately, this leaves Steve unemployed. 

Bucky has been working double shifts at the cannery and coming home barely able to stand on his feet. 

Steve received his last paycheck today and is going to tell Bucky that they are going to eat out. Steve can’t cook for shit. He doesn’t know what he is going to do about a new job. It is nearly impossible to find work these days. He’ll have to draw even more eight-pagers. That’s the last thread of a salary that he has now — he doesn’t even feel shame about it anymore. (To be fair, he does visit queer bars on a regular basis, so it would be a tad hypocritical if dirty drawings are what made him blush.)

He does his best not to worry. Instead, he sits out on the fire escape with his sketchbook in one hand. He watches the sunset and thinks that the city is going to move along far faster than he does. If he has the opportunity to move along at all. He watches people walk down the sidewalk, dames in their pinup curls and men smoking their Chesterfield cigarettes. He sketches Brooklyn in motion, the sun peeking up from below the buildings and the tall street lamps and people racing by. 

Before he knows it, it is eight at night and the sky has a light dusting of stars on top of it. He feels himself being pushed slightly to the left so he turns his head and he sees Bucky crouching down next to him. He smiles at him, like he always does when Bucky is around. 

“When’d ‘ya get home, Buck?” Steve asks, sotto voce. 

“Oh just five minutes ago.” Bucky dangles an unlit cigarette in between his pointer and middle finger. “You go inside, I’m having a smoke.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, still and quiet. He doesn’t want his words to be swallowed up by the irregular thrum of his beating heart. “I’ll stay and draw.”

“You sure your asthma won’t—”

“Yeah, Buck. I’ll be okay.” He holds his sketchbook out to Bucky, showing him the flipped open page of Brooklyn. Bucky’s eyebrows lift. 

“That’s so swell, Steve!” he says, his voice too loud in the night. 

“Shhhhh,” Steve says. And then, quieter still, “Thank you.”

“‘S no problem, Stevie.”

Steve smiles at him, soft edged — but not quite kind. Steve is not a gentle person and only gentle people can smile kind smiles. “We’re going out to eat,” Steve says, instead of the hundreds of other things he could have said. 

Bucky’s brows furrow. “Huh?”

Steve says, “I got my last paycheck at the greengrocer today.” 

“Last—”

“Yeah. Henderson was firing a dime a dozen today. Got laid off. ‘S not that surprising. Don’t worry about it— I’ll find something.”

“Stevie—”

“I said _don’t_. Now quit yer yappin’ and go put on somethin‘ decent.”

Bucky gives him a weak grin and a mock salute. “Yessir.”

They go to a cheap-ish place and split a chocolate egg cream and burgers. Steve watches Bucky laugh at something Steve said, his mouth open and his eyes crinkled and hair slicked back and Steve— Steve wants to savor this moment — capture it inadequately in his art — wants to ink every line in his memory over and over and over again. He wishes he had his sketchbook— or a camera— God. God, he’s in love. 

— — —

### Brooklyn Heights, Brooklyn — 1938

Steve knows that something is wrong the moment he gets home. It is midnight and Steve has just returned. He was at the bar — the queer bar— the only place he could score a job. Sometimes he goes out back and gives suckjobs for two or three bucks each — most of the time he sits there and looks pretty, hands out drinks and helps the owner — Mr. Ricci— out back with whatever he needs. It pays quite well, actually. Never let it be said that being a (part-time) rent boy isn’t remunerative. Along with his eight-pagers, he has enough money to pay his share of the rent. The only downside is that he has to play it off as if he has an office job to Bucky. It’s quite satisfactory seeing his landlord’s face when he pays his piece of rent in cash. (Maybe that’s a little bit vindictive — but he deserves it.)

Bucky is sat on the couch with his left palm resting against his cheek. His elbow is wedged in his thigh. He’s positioned himself on the right of the loveseat.

“Hi, Steve,” Bucky says, a tired frown etched into his face. Steve doesn’t like that frown. That frown only shows up after frustrating conversations with George Barnes or when Bucky gets broken up with — needless to say, not often. Steve hates being the reason for that frown. 

“Hi, Bucky,” Steve says. He hopes his voice doesn’t waver. 

Steve settles his eyes just left of Bucky’s. 

“Coupla days ago, I heard talk — down at the docks — that you— ‘that Rogers fairy’” Bucky inhales sharply. “That you— work at a queer bar? And you—you sometimes, uh, sell yourself out? Steve— I- I didn’t want to believe them so I asked one of the joes down there which bar and, and then— so of course I had to go and _check_ —”

And oh, no. This is even worse than he imagined. He can count his heart beat, the sputter in its step. He can feel his heart judder up in his throat. He starts preparing a dozen apologetic phrases in his head — he’ll say anything, _anything_ , because he can’t have Bucky hate him. 

Nothing good lasts forever. 

He hears Bucky take in another shuddering breath before continuing. 

“—I didn’t _want_ them to be right but I _saw_ you there and— I saw you take some joe on your knees and _God,_ Steve. God. Why did you— why are you—” Bucky stops there. He fists his right hand in his hair while his left elbow digs harder into his leg. 

Bucky stares at him for a few seconds before he remembers that he has to respond. “I— I— there was no other work for me — and I can’t by on my eight-pagers alone — Buck, please, I’ll leave if you want, I’m sorry— I needed the money— they don’t care that I’m small— like it, even, Buck— Bucky— I’m sorry, I’ll just, I can just go—”

“Wait, wait, what?” He faintly registers Bucky replying. “Steve, I’m not— I’m not kickin’ you out.”

Steve stares at him. “You aren’t?”

“No!”

“Then why—”

“‘Cause I was— I am Goddamned _jealous_ , Steve. I’m wrong all over and I _love you_ and I hated watchin’ you with someone else because I wanted— want that someone to be _me_. I get it if you don’t love me back — it’s okay — I just. I guess I just. Needed to say it.” His voice diminishes at the end, like he’s run out of steam. 

Steve’s heart stops. “You— I— _me_?”

“Yes, _you_ , numbskull,” Bucky says. His voice is weak. 

Steve can’t process words right now. 

“C’mon, Steve, say something,” Bucky says, and it’s the low pleading in his voice that snaps Steve into action. 

“But— but girls?”

“Girls are swell Stevie, but none of them are _you._ Every time I’m with one I can’t stop thinkin’ about doin’ the same shit with _you_ , bein’ with you _._ ”

This feels like a dream and Steve is afraid he is going to wake up and none of it would have happened at all. Maybe this is all a setup for disappointment.

Steve finds that he doesn’t care. He takes a leap and says the only thing that comes to mind. 

“ _I love you too_.”

And this is nowhere near the scenario that Steve imagined himself saying it. He didn’t think he would be saying it _back_ for one, or saying it at all. He thought he would have tears on his face, watching Bucky look at him with _disgust_ . And his face breaks out into the largest grin he can muster and he watches Bucky’s eyes flit through a series of emotions, landing on happy, his eyes twinkling and Steve _laughs_ , clear as a bell. 

”Oh,” Bucky says. “Steve,” so soft, reverent; like a prayer. And oh. Oh, Steve wants his name said like that again. 

He doesn’t know who leans forward first but soon their lips are clashing together — their noses bump together and they pull away — it’s not perfect like in the movies. It’s _better._ Bucky grins and tilts his head and they come together all over again. Bucky tastes like shitty cigarettes but Steve doesn’t mind, just parts his lips and lets Bucky slip his tongue in. 

This is so much more than he ever thought he would get. 

They kiss and they kiss and they kiss until they have to pull away for air and Steve laughs — giddy against the alive thrum of his heart. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and Steve responds in kind, climbing into Bucky’s lap and putting his right hand on Bucky’s cheek and his left in Bucky’s hair. Steve’s legs are around his waist and the kiss is diverting into giggles and God, it’s so good to see Bucky _happy._ He never wants to let this moment go. 

“I’m in love with you,” Steve whispers, against Bucky’s lips. There is something heavy in his chest removed, tear tracks streaming down his face as Bucky thumbs them away. “I’m _happy_.”

“Me too, Stevie, _me too._ ” Bucky _grins_ and kisses the wet spots on his blotchy face and says, “I’m in love with you too.”

“Take me to bed, Barnes.”

He does. 

— — —

Steve is in his— _their_ bed, sticky and satisfied. His hair is sticking to his forehead so he brushes it away. He sighs, contentedly. Bucky is underneath him, his ankles intertwined with Steve’s feet. His arms are wrapped securely around Steve’s back, his left pointer finger making making circles in between Steve’s shoulder blades. 

“God,” Bucky says. “ _That_ is something I’ve been missing out on.”

Steve snorts.

He thinks about showing Bucky the drawing. Not yet, he decides. He will save it for a moment he really needs it. Hopefully never. He doesn’t want Bucky to see how desperately he is holding onto him — how _much_ he needs him, and for Bucky to run away screaming. And logically, Steve knows, Bucky wouldn’t run away. But logic never helped anyone feel better. 

“I love you,” he says, savoring the words in his mouth, feeling them sizzle on his tongue. 

“I love you too.” He will never get tired of hearing it.

He buries his face in Bucky’s neck and allows himself to be happy. 

“Steve—what’re you gonna do about your job?”

“I dunno,” Steve whispers. “Maybe I’ll stop doing the suckjobs. Those pay the most though. I’m sure I can ask Frank about it. He’s nice.”

There is silence for a moment and then —

“D’you wanna push our beds together? Because this is great and all but I’m gettin’ a crick in my neck,” Bucky asks. 

Steve smiles up at Bucky. “That sounds like a great idea.”

Neither of them move. 

It’s okay. They have time. 

— — — 

### Stark Expo, Queens — 1943 

It is Bucky’s last night. Steve steadfastly does not think about that. Instead, he thinks about the upcoming Stark Expo, Bucky in his uniform and how much he wants to rip it off. He thinks about their makeshift double bed and Winnie Barnes’ latkes. 

For a brief second — in passing, he entertains the thought of the _future_. Like Bucky said. Maybe one day Steve could walk down the sidewalk, Bucky’s hand in his, matching rings gleaming on their fingers. Maybe they’d come home to their own house with a cat or two. Maybe Bucky would get to finish college and become an astrophysicist and Steve would stay home in his studio and paint. Maybe Steve would be able to dance softly to the radio with Bucky — without stepping on his toes. Maybe Steve would stay alive long enough for Bucky’s hair to fade to a stark grey and for happy lines to appear on his face. Maybe they really would get to grow old together. 

Steve perishes the thought as quickly as it came, as much as it hurts. This is what they have, and they make do. 

Steve itches to hold Bucky’s hand the entire train ride to Queens. He doesn’t. He sees Bucky inch his fingers near Steve’s too. He digs his nails into his thighs. 

“Hey Buck,” Steve says, quiet in the crowded train car. 

“Hmm?” Bucky asks. 

“It’ll be okay.”

Bucky gives him a smile that is half-sad and half-scared. It doesn’t look like he believes Steve. That’s okay. Steve doesn’t believe it either. 

They reach the Stark Expo fast enough. Steve tries not to think about every passing minute. 

He grabs Bucky’s wrist and pulls him on to the platform when the train stops and he doesn’t react. 

“C’mon honey, your head is in the clouds,” Steve says, softly against the rustle of the station. 

Bucky shudders twice. “Sorry. Sorry, Stevie.”

“Hey,” Steve says. “You handled fifteen years of Becca Barnes. This war’s gonna be a piece’a cake.”

Bucky gives him a terrible half smile. “If you say so.”

“You’re gonna make it back, Barnes, or God help me.”

“You would, wouldn’t you? Get God on your side.”

“You know I would.”

Bucky’s smile looks a tad bit more genuine. 

— — —

“I don’t see what the problem is. You’re about to be the last eligible man in New York. You know, there are three million women here,” Bucky says. This is their lightheartedness — this is a joke of theirs — their impossible predicament of a future. Steve knows that one day—Bucky will have to leave and get married so some dame. That’s okay. Steve will hold on for now. Bucky is joking and usually Steve would be struggling not to laugh. But tonight he couldn’t laugh if he tried. 

“Well I’d settle for just one,” He says, plays along. 

Bucky looks down at him. “Good thing I took care of that.” Steve looks at Bucky, fond and exasperated. 

“Bucky!”

Steve is not surprised when he sees the two dames calling for them by the entrance to the Expo. He is also not surprised when he sees the face of the woman on the right, the blonde, drop into a miserable angry frown. 

None of this _matters_ , Steve thinks rather angrily. Bucky is leaving and his world is ending. Why waste time on mundanities? There’s a _war_ on and of course Steve can’t follow the one person he would, and of course Steve can’t protect people the way he wants to. The universe really does hate him. 

“What’d you tell her about me?” Steve vaguely hears himself asking. 

Bucky smiles at him, _really_ smiles, viciously. Steve’s heart flops like a fish, once, twice. “Only the good stuff.”

They walk around together, for a while, the brunette (Connie?) holding Bucky’s hand and the blonde (Ruth, she’d said, sizing him up very distastefully) walking far too close to Bucky to be considered Steve’s date. Steve, per usual, trails behind and lets his eyes wander at the exhibits. 

While Bucky watches Howard Stark’s flying car with a (frankly _adorable_ ) gleam in his eyes — Steve slinks away to the recruitment center. 

Bucky finds him. Bucky always finds him. 

“You’re really gonna do this again?” Bucky asks and _yes,_ Steve thinks, frantically. _I can’t do this without you. I’d follow you until the ends of the Earth._

“Well it’s a fair, gonna try my luck.” 

“As who? Steve from Ohio? They’ll catch you — or worse they’ll actually take you.”

“Look I know you don’t think I can do this—”

“This isn’t a back-alley, Steve, it’s war.”

“I know it’s a war, you don’t gotta tell me—” 

They argue and argue and Steve feels hollow because Bucky is _leaving_ and there is a very real chance that he won’t come back. And Steve doesn’t get to go to war— make his death _mean_ something. He just wants to fight. 

“Don’t do anything stupid ‘til I get back.”

“How can I? You’re takin’ all the stupid with you.”

Bucky hugs him. 

“You’re a punk.” _I love you._

“Jerk.” _I love you too._

“Don’t win the war ‘til I get there!”

Bucky salutes him. 

Later, Steve will have the wish of ripping off Bucky’s uniform granted. In the morning, there will be an embrace much longer than this abbreviated goodbye. There will be more tears and more kissing and more hollowness. 

Steve doesn’t know any of this. He slips back into the recruitment center and walks out with a half-sheet of paper and a chance. 

1A, it reads. _1A._

— — —

the bigness of cannon

is skilful,

but i have seen

death’s clever enormous voice

which hides in a fragility

of poppies. . . .

i say that sometimes

on these long talkative animals

are laid fists of huger silence.

I have seen all the silence

filled with vivid noiseless boys

at Roupy

i have seen

between barrages,

the night utter ripe unspeaking girls.

— **E.E Cummings, the bigness of cannon**

— — —

### Outskirts of Kreischberg, Austria — 1943

Steve doesn’t know how to talk to Bucky. This is a first. He pulls out a pack of Luckies from his pocket, takes one out and lights it. Bucky stares at him from where he’s standing at Steve’s right. 

“You smoke?” 

Steve shrugs. “I can now. Dunno if I was missin’ out on much. Asthma ones were better— even if they did make me see things.” He blows out a breath, watching the smoke dissipate in the air. “Wanna share?”

A second passes and then— Bucky nods. Steve passes him the cigarette. He takes it. 

“Did your asthma smokes even have tobacco?”

“Eh. Sometimes.”

“Where’d ‘ya get Luckies?”

“‘S not like I have standard K-Rations. I’m only ‘in the Army.’ Bought ‘em back in London.”

Bucky hadn’t been _quiet_ per say— it was just that the silences between them were awkward in a way that they had never been before, both of them with questions they were angling to ask one another. They’d been filling up the silence by hacking at it with miserable small talk that they’d never had to go through before. Steve can’t really ask much now— they’re still a day away from base camp. He’s got half of the 107th to escort safely. They’re stopping for the night— a makeshift camp in a clearing in the forest. Steve and Bucky are leaning against the thick trunk of a tree. 

Steve wants to kiss Bucky right there, in front of everyone. He doesn’t. Instead he takes the cigarette Bucky is holding back out to him. Then, he grabs Bucky’s wrist. Bucky looks up at him. 

“Steve—?”

Steve doesn’t say anything, just pulls Bucky back into the foliage with him, to a point where they can’t be seen by everyone else. 

“Bucky.”

“You’re real, right?”

That’s not the question Steve was expecting. “Yes?”

“I— sorry. I just. I was afraid that this is all a dream.”

“I promise I’m real.”

Bucky looks at his feet. Steve lets the cigarette drop to the ground and crushes it with the heel of

his foot. 

“Bucky—”

“I promise I’ll tell you about what happened. I _promise._ Not now, okay? When I’m ready. And then— you can tell me what the fuck happened to you.”

Steve breathes out. “Okay, yeah Buck. Okay.”

Bucky leans forward and puts his forehead on Steve’s shoulder. He inhales, shakily, through what sounds like tears. 

“Of course you’re real, no hallucination could have your _nose_ .” Bucky laughs incredulously at the end. Steve follows— and they dissolve into hysterics— laughing over something so fucking _mundane_ . There are tears on Bucky’s cheeks, soaking into Steve’s coat so Steve clasps the back of Bucky’s neck and lifts his head up. He thumbs away the tear tracks and he leans in and kisses Bucky _hard_ . Bucky is immediately responsive, slinging his arms around Steve’s waist, even with the new strange angle of him tilting his head _up_ . Steve missed this. Steve missed _him_.

“I’m so glad you’re not dead,” he says, when they’ve pulled back to breathe, laughing giddily, almost madly. 

Bucky smiles. “Me too, pal.”

“You sure I’m real now?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure. You got all the same stuff on the inside.”

“Actually I think _some_ parts of my insides are a bit different—” Steve says, reaching out to tickle Bucky’s sides. 

“Steve, stop— _fuck_ !” Bucky laughs, hard, and it’s the best sound Steve has ever heard. Steve goes for a while before he lets up with the tickling— until Bucky is a laughing, writhing mess. “ _Fuck_ . I _know_ you’re real now, hallucination-you was never this much of an ass.”

Steve laughs at him. 

“You don’t mind the whole — difference?”

“You kiddin’ Stevie? You’re healthy. How could I ever be upset about that? Only problem is now you’re dragged in this war too. Didn’t want that.”

“Had to follow you, y’know.”

“Hey Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you, asshole.”

“I love you too, Buck.”

— — —

### Base Camp, Italy — 1943

Bucky isn’t speaking to him. Which is unfortunate considering that the only thing Steve wants to do currently is run into his tent with Bucky and rip both of their clothes off. 

Well, objectively he _is_ speaking to Steve but it’s— it’s a different sort of ‘silence’ than the march back. It’s like Bucky is shutting off his emotions. It is accusing, choking Steve. What did Steve do wrong?

Once Steve is sure that Bucky has been checked up by medical, he asks Peggy if she saw Bucky go into a tent. She nods and points to a small tent a little ways away. He walks over and says “Bucky? You in there?”

He hears a small huff. Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Steve. I’m in here.”

“Can I come in?” Steve asks. 

“Dunno if you’d fit.”

“Will you come with me then? I have a bigger tent.”

It’s silent for a moment, considering, then— “Alright. _Fine_.”

Slowly, Bucky unzips the tent and — deliberately slowly — manhandles himself out of it. 

“Come _on_ ,” Steve says. 

Bucky looks up at him, annoyed. 

A short walk later, they’re both sat in Steve’s tent. 

“This is nice,” Bucky remarks glibly. 

“Thanks. They had extra tents. Now would you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Steve. Can I go?”

“Bullshit, nothing’s wrong,” Steve says. “What is it?”

Bucky huffs. “I saw you makin’ eyes at that gal, earlier. I didn’t know you had a dame.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh._ ”

“She ain’t my dame.”

“Yeah, _sure_.”

“Are you — jealous?”

Bucky doesn’t answer. 

“No, Bucky, no, Agent Carter ‘n I, we ain’t— we’re not like that. She’s a swell gal, really! I really do like her. But she ain’t _you_ , Buck. She— she got me a plane so I could come _get_ you. Haven’t you gotten it yet? You’re it for me.” 

Bucky looks up at him. His lip trembles. “ _Oh.”_

“Yeah, _oh._ ”

“Shut up,” Bucky says. 

“Make me.”

Bucky promptly kisses him on the mouth. Effective tactic. 

“That’s — playing dirty,” Steve gasps once Bucky has sucked a solid bruise or two below his collarbone. “Keep ‘em below the neck.”

“Yeah, okay, now get those clothes off, Captain, wanna see what you’re hiding.”

“You practically read my mind.”

— — —

### Outskirts of France — 1944

“Fuck, Stevie,” Steve vaguely hears Bucky say that. Are they having sex? Huh. “ _Fuck.”_ Steve rolls his head and sees Bucky looking pale and staring at a fixed point below him. He looks down— is that blood? Oh. Right. He got shot. 

“Don’ worry Buck. I’m all good,” Steve says before the world goes black. 

— — —

Steve wakes up and registers that he is lying on something hard. “Ow,” he says. 

He then registers Bucky waiting near his feet. “Steve?” he asks cautiously. 

“Hi, Buck. How long’ve I been out?”

“Oh, about eight hours. No Steve you dipshit, don’t _move_ you got _shot—_ ” Bucky says as Steve tries to sit up but is stopped by a sharp pain in his side. 

“That’s what you get,” Bucky grumbles, but he is sporting a wan complexion and the effect is kind of ruined.

“Wha—What happened?”

“You got _shot_ is what happened, _fuck_ Steve. Morita had to dig out the bullet and _fuck_ , oh _God_ Steve, _never do that to me again_.”

He sees how shaken Bucky is. “Bucky, I’m sorry— _I’m sorry_.”

Bucky exhales. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

“Bucky, _Bucky_ , I love you.”

“Love you too,” Bucky says, shakily. 

Steve thinks about the drawing tucked in one of the pockets of his uniform and thinks about showing it to Bucky. Before he comes up with a definitive answer, Dum Dum steps into view. 

“Hey, Cap,” he says. 

“Hi,” Steve says, still a little delirious. 

“Thanks for uh, saving my life back there.”

Oh, that’s right. Steve had taken a shot meant for Dum Dum. 

“No biggie,” Steve says. Bucky growls in the background. “But!” Steve continues hastily. “I will — refrain from doing — something reckless like that again.” 

They both know it’s a lie. 

Dum Dum leaves the tent with a small smile and a salute. He’s pretty sure all of the Howlies know about them — but they know better than to comment.

“I’m sorry Bucky,” Steve says. 

“I know, Stevie, I just. I can’t do this without you, sweetheart.” 

“I’m sorry. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Bucky walks toward him and presses a kiss to his forehead. 

_I can’t either_ , Steve thinks. _I can’t do this without you._

— — —

### Whip & Fiddle Bar, Italy — 1945

Steve can’t feel anything. 

He thinks he’s drained an entire crate of liquor and it has done nothing. It’s a different kind of apathy, though. He doesn’t think he’s _capable_ of feeling. 

Bucky is gone and it is his fault. 

The wound is fresh and new, raw and gaping, bleeding from Steve’s body into the earth beneath it. 

_I didn’t even get to show him my drawing_.

Steve feels the drawing in his uniform pocket, crumpled up for the first time. What’s the _point_ ? Bucky is _gone_ and Steve doesn’t have a meaning anymore. 

He thinks about the Stark Expo, all those years ago, how mad he had been over the mundane. Now, he wishes, now he wishes he remembered all of that. 

Because Steve is never going to hear Bucky’s tinkly laugh again, or feel his lips against Steve’s or see Bucky slicking his hair back or smoking a cigarette. Steve is _never_ going to run his fingers along Bucky’s arms and legs and stomach again, never going to be able to mouth against his jawline or kiss his temple. Fuck. He thinks. _Fuck_. This is what the world ending really feels like. 

_Don’t worry, Buck. I’ll join you soon._

— — —

Knot the tie and go to work. 

Unknot the tie and go to sleep. 

I sleep. I dream. I make up things that I would never say. 

I say them very quietly. 

— **from Richard Siken,** **_Meanwhile_ **

— — —

### Manhattan, New York City — 2013

 _Well I made it_ , Steve thinks. _This is the future_. 

The cruel irony is that Steve did not want to be here at all.

Steve doesn’t mind all of it. The first time he’d tried Starbucks he’d practically had an orgasm — he hadn’t had anything that sweet in— well, a really long time. He finds that he likes all things ridiculously sweet — cupcake icing and caramel and white chocolate. He takes coffees with two sugars and caramel. He likes all the food, really, everything is miles better than what he had access too. The films and TV is almost all wonderful — except for the ones about him, isn’t _that_ a kicker. He appreciates some developments in art, _especially_ animation, but other types of art just _confuse_ him. 

There’s too much he does mind to list. 

When he had gotten his bearings, he had found his drawing folded in his pocket. He took it out and saw it water-stained and ruined. Steve had cried for hours and hours on end over it — it was all he had left of Bucky because Bucky was _gone_ and Steve misses him so much it fucking hurts more every day. He never wanted to be here. He was never meant to see this — let alone see it by himself. Bucky’s absence is like an omnipresent _ache_. Everything he’s ever loved has been ripped from him — apparitions gone to the wind. 

_How cruel must the universe be_ , he thinks, _to let me live in a time where I could marry Bucky without him here_. He spends two weeks designing and sketching a pair of rings before crying too hard to finish it and tossing it in the recycling bin.

If Bucky were here, maybe he and Steve would have the energy to fuck around with everyone. If Bucky were here, then they could have lived together in a place and time where no one finds it suspicious. If Bucky were here, Steve would have gotten down on one knee nearly instantly — promised himself to Bucky any way possible. They could’ve settled down — stopped fighting, adopted a couple kids, got a cat, everything Steve never thought was possible before. Of course, none of it is possible now, either.

SHIELD is keeping a close watch on him, thinking he doesn’t notice it. He _minds_ but not much — he hasn’t got much to hide. Not really. Not when half of his life is visible The newly added Smithsonian exhibit threw him for a loop. There’s shit in there that Steve doesn’t even know how they _got_ . They have Steve’s old _suspenders_. There are transcripts on the internet of interviews with his old neighbors and friends. He’s sure that they’d put in a bloody tooth in the museum if they thought that he’d lost it. Safe to say, it’s overwhelming.

Throwing himself back into active duty was the only thing that really made sense to him. The simplicity of having orders and a mission to complete. After the whole Chitauri clusterfuck, SHIELD named him leader of the STRIKE team and then threw him out there. 

Half of the time his missions are black ops and morally questionable hits on people that fucked with Fury. Basically, STRIKE became a high-grade assassination team, though they didn’t call themselves that. To be fair, the people he’s assassinating have done some pretty shitty things, so he can’t feel _too_ bad. Still, he wishes he didn’t have to do work that was always so— hostile. He’s a protector, not an offender. It’s why he has a shield, isn’t it? 

Steve doesn’t know what he’s doing.

— — —

The Avengers have slowly but surely threaded their way into an acceptable group of friends. There’s a sense of easy camaraderie with them, and Steve feels somewhat like he isn’t out of place. Their senses of humour are all complimentary to one another, surprisingly. It makes for a hell of a lot of fun during ‘team-bonding’ nights. 

Currently, they’re loaded up on booze— Thor brought his strong shit, so even Steve’s tipsy— and playing a rapidly downward spiraling game of Paranoia— a game that he’d learned about during their first ‘team’ night. 

It is currently Nat’s turn to whisper something in Steve’s ear. 

“Which two of us would you have a _kinky_ threesome with?” she asks. Steve flushes — against his will. He’s hardly embarrassed about sex anymore. Natasha was the first person he told about his sexuality— bisexual, it was called. She took it in stride. Empowered by that reaction, Steve came out to the rest of the team. They all took it very well. 

In reaction to _his_ reaction— Tony’s eyes light up. Fuck his complexion. Then he remembers he has to _answer_. 

“Uh—” He looks around the circle of them. He addresses Natasha while speaking. “You and Thor.”

“Ooh, this one oughta be good,” Clint pipes up. 

Thor says, “I would like to know the question.” 

“Take the shot, Thor.”

Thor drinks the shot.

“Fuck. Uh— the question was ‘which of you two would I have a— specifically kinky— threesome with’.”

Thor laughs. “Anytime you want, Captain.”

“Agreed,” Natasha says. Steve stores this information for later usage. 

Tony pouts. “Not me? I’m offended.”

Steve grins wide. “Reminds me too much of your dad.”

Tony pales. Natasha wolf-whistles. 

“You _fucked_ my dad?”

“Nah, more like your dad fucked me.”

Tony has gone simultaneously white as a sheet and red as a tomato. “I— so _that’s_ why Dad couldn’t shut up about you!”

Steve laughs. (It was a good threesome.)

He thinks that maybe he’ll be okay this century, with this team, with these odds, with another chance at life.

— — —

### District of Columbia, U.S.A — 2014

Steve is a _mess_.

When The Winter Soldier— _Bucky’s_ mask came off— everything just — _froze_ for a second. Time stopped and nothing existed except for the two of them. 

Bucky is _alive_ and it’s so much worse than if he were dead. 

Because Steve has let him suffer this terrible fate. He remembers the distance between their fingertips on the train carriage inching closer and closer. If Steve had just _reached—_

He is startled out of his train of thought by a hand on his shoulder. Sam is grabbing him reassuringly. Steve turns. 

Sam’s eyes are soft. “We’ll find him, Steve.”

“How?” Steve says, voice breaking. 

They are in Sam’s house, lying down on his bed together — as if they’re having a sleepover and talking about cute boys. Steve almost giggles hysterically at the thought. 

“I dunno. But we will.”

“Gee, that’s reassuring.” Steve fists Sam’s blue striped sheets. 

Sam turns towards him. “Wanna tell me about him?”

“I don’t think I can.”

“You wanna try?”

Steve blows out a breath. “Alright. Okay, Sammy. Just for you.”

He pauses for a second. “He— _God_ , he was so great. We met when I was eight and he was nine ‘n I was actually taller than him. Ain’t that something! He saved me from a skirmish with this big eleven year old— Michael Davis— real brick of a kid. He was trying to rob me. Bucky jus’ ran in fists swingin’. I’d never even met the kid. Anyway, he had a full family, unlike me. His Ma and Pa and three younger sisters, Becca, Daisy, and Josie. I might be biased— but he was the nicest one of ‘em. All three of ‘em were tough as nails— had to be, really. Bucky? Not so much. He was sweet to everyone, even the stray cats. Wanted to be an astrophysicist when he grew up, never stopped lookin’ at the stars. 

“Dunno why he wanted to hang out with me, never figured that one out. I was depressin’ as shit. He never wanted to go to war, did you know that? Sonuvabitch got drafted ‘n didn’t tell me until two months before he fell. He was a Damn good sniper— best one in the entire Army. But he didn’t ever want to shoot anybody. Sometimes after a particularly messy shot he’d— he’d just curl up and cry. He thought I didn’t see. He was almost as stubborn as me. Fuck, Sam. I can’t say enough about him.”

Sam is silent for a second. “Were you in love with him?”

Steve presses his face into the mattress. “Yeah. Yeah, I was. Am.”

“Did he know?”

“‘Course he did. Been goin’ steady since ‘38.” He is quiet, and then in a whisper he adds, “I _miss_ him, Sammy, I _miss_ him— and it ain’t fair anymore ‘cause he’s alive. I ain’t allowed to feel sorry for myself when he’s out there, feelin’ twenty times worse than me at any given point in time.”

“Now that is a load of bullshit,” Sam says. “You can miss him, y’know. He ain’t here.”

Steve inhales— it feels rattly, like it did back when he was asthmatic. He turns and presses his face into Sam’s shoulder. Sam doesn’t comment when the tears start falling, just holds the back of his neck and lets him sob.

“Y’know,” Sam says, quietly. “If Bucky were Riley— even though it wasn’t quite the same situation with him— I wouldn’t be as calm as you are. I’d wanna kick Riley’s ass six ways to Sunday for leaving, even if he did have reasons. I’d be a mess, Steve. You’re doing fine.”

Steve cries harder. “I don’t— I just— I’m not _calm_.”

Sam laughs. “Steve, if I was in your position— fuck, I dunno—”

“You don’t gotta empathize with me, Sam. Just you being here is enough. Thanks for existing.”

“Right back atcha pal.”

Steve cries until he doesn’t have enough energy to speak anymore. 

— — —

_“I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”_

— **from** **Madeline Miller,** ** _The Song Of Achilles_**

— — —

### Avengers Compound, Upstate New York — 2015

Steve keeps his new drawing on top of the old, waterlogged one. They are both in the second drawer of his desk. 

Steve spent three months on the drawing. It was reminiscent to the process of the first one. 

Bucky stands with his arms to his sides, wearing a button up and jeans. His left fist is made of metal. Steve doesn’t know what Bucky likes to wear, now, and that pains him to think about. He is smirking at the camera, like he did in the first one. It is a tentative coalescing of Bucky old and new. Steve draws his hair longer than it was then when he’d seen it last. It has as much detail as the last one— more, if possible. 

The distance between the bottom of Bucky’s nose and the top of his lips is precise. One side of his lips is raised slightly higher than the other. His posture is ramrod straight — it always was, after Basic, the cocky swagger erased. Steve doesn’t know if the length from the bottom of palm to fingertip is the same as it was before. His right arm is straight, his hand hanging to his thigh. His hair is curled in all the right places — Steve thinks — Steve doesn’t know if Bucky still has the pesky piece of baby hair that is curled right above Bucky’s left ear. Steve sometimes imagines raking his fingers through Bucky’s longer hair. Steve wishes that Bucky would come home. There is an extra line in Bucky’s right eyelid. His eyelashes are long on top but few on the bottom. His eyebrows curve along with his eyes. Steve does not know if ridges of his collarbones still stick out against the few freckles on his neck.

There is one major difference between the first drawing and the second. 

On the second drawing, there are tear stains. 

— — —

### Somewhere above Russia — 2016 

The flight from Berlin is taking an absurdly long time. Longer than the projected flight time. Steve feels tired. Steve _is_ tired, all the way down to his bones. 

Steve has both drawings tucked in a pocket in his pants. Steve turns the plane to auto-pilot and gets out of his seat. 

He sits on the seat across from Bucky, draws his knees up to his chest and leans his head against the wall. He closes his eyes. 

“Steve,” Bucky says, quietly. 

Steve does not open his eyes when he responds, “Yeah?” He doesn’t know if he can handle what expression is on Bucky’s face. 

“Steve,” again, firmer. 

Steve opens his eyes this time, resting his chin against his knees. Bucky is the only person who can make him back down from a fight. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says. 

Steve blinks. “For what?”

“For running.”

Steve’s throat feels very dry, all of a sudden. “It’s okay.”

“It isn’t.”

“You did what you had to do, Bucky. It’s alright.”

“I didn’t think about you.”

“Buck. Really. It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

“You’re still a shit liar, Rogers.”

“I’m not lying. I was never angry. I thought about your stance. You needed time to sort your shit out. I get it.”

“I read your file,” Bucky says. Steve doesn’t know what he was expecting but it wasn’t that. “I got two years to reconcile with the fact that most people I knew is dead. You got thrown back into active combat two _weeks_ after you got defrosted. The fuck were they thinkin’! You didn’t even get the luxury of grief.”

Steve stares at him. 

Bucky sighs, and then says, “I’m _sorry_ , Stevie.” Steve is going to break down, right in the middle of this plane. 

Bucky isn’t done. “The point is that I wasn’t there for you when you really needed me.”

“I wasn’t either.”

Bucky rolls his eyes heavenward. “Because I didn’t _let_ you, dipshit. It’s different. And— you— you’re not _okay_ , Stevie. I’ve been back around you for like, a day and a half, and I can tell already.”

Steve laughs, low and bitter, sounding scraped. Bucky looks startled — that’s not surprising. Steve never used to laugh like that. “You got no idea.”

“Enlighten me.”

Here goes nothing. “I tried to kill myself properly two weeks after the alien mess. Did you know that?”

Bucky takes in a sharp breath. “ _Sweetheart_.” Bucky looks distraught. Tears are flowing down Steve’s face, now. He missed being called that. 

“Didn’t work, obviously. Turns out I can survive even after six bottles of sleeping pills.”

Bucky is crying now. Wow, they match. “ _Steve_ —”

“Got a bottle of vodka too. Didn’t do shit. Guess I figured it’d be better’n water. Went to a coupla different drug stores so I didn’t look too suspicious. Downed ‘em in five minutes. Got real’ drowsy — waited to fall asleep. Woke up in the morning with a headache.” Steve’s voice breaks at the end. 

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” Bucky whispers. 

“It ain’t your fault, Buck.”

“I shoulda came back.”

“It was your choice. I wasn’t gonna take that away from you.”

Bucky gets out of his seat and kneels in front of Steve. He thumbs away the tear tracks on Steve’s cheeks, like he did all those years ago. 

“How about we agree to disagree?”

Steve chokes a laugh. “Okay.” Bucky pushes himself up and sits next to Steve. 

Softly, he puts his hands on Steve’s cheeks and kisses him. Steve cries harder when he realizes that Bucky kisses the same way he always did. Gentle— like Steve is the most important thing in the world. 

They pull away. Steve says, “You still— you still want—?”

“Yeah, Steve. I still want. I never stopped lovin’ you. Just had a — momentary lapse.”

“Honey,” Steve says. 

“I’m sorry I took so long,” Bucky whispers. “I’m sorry I took so long to come home.”

“I thought I knew — but I wanna hear it,” Steve starts. He is so quiet. He is so weary. He never used to sound this battleworn. “What kept you?”

“I thought,” Bucky’s voice cracks and fuck if _that_ isn’t painful. They don’t need to be loud. Their silence says what words cannot. “I thought that since I’m a different you wouldn’t like me anymore— I’m not right for you, Steve, the shit I’ve _done_ — I thought— I thought you would be better without someone just wearing Bucky Barnes’ face.”

Steve kisses Bucky. He tastes like fruit. “Now you listen here. I know you’re Bucky Barnes because that right there? That is pure Grade-A Bucky Barnes bullshit.”

“But Steve—”

“Uh uh, I don’t want to hear it,” Steve cuts him off, knowing he sounds exactly like his Ma. 

Bucky laughs a watery laugh. Steve never thought he would hear that again. Steve remembers the drawings. 

He thinks he’s waited long enough. 

“Can I show you somethin’?”

“Anything. Of course.”

Delicately, Steve opens the pocket on his left leg, and takes out the paper slowly, carefully, as not to crease the corners any more than they have already been fretted over. The paper isn’t quite as top-notch anymore, wet and smudged and stained. 

Steve opens the paper. He hears Bucky take in a sharp breath behind him. 

“This is from 1937,” Steve says quietly, tracing the smudged ink lines. “It was the drawing I never showed you.”

“I _remember_ that, you were so insistent about me not seein’ it. _Christ_ , Steve, that’s — that’s somethin’ else— you could’ve _sold_ that. Is that really how you see me?”

“Naw,” Steve says. He takes the second drawing and puts it on top of the first. Bucky takes an even sharper breath. “That’s how I see you.”

“ _Steve_ — when did you—”

“Last year. Before the Ultron mess.”

“It’s so — Jesus Christ, Stevie, that’s _beautiful_. I—”

Steve folds both the drawings up and puts them in Bucky’s pocket. “They’re yours.”

He says, “Listen to me. I love you, James Buchanan Barnes. You could have a hook for a hand or three assholes for all I care. I loved you and I will continue to love you for as long as I live on this miserable planet. I love you in whatever incarnation I can have you, whatever form, presidential assassinations or no. I said end of the line and I _meant_ it. I’ll always mean it.”

Bucky is crying again, so Steve kisses his cheeks. 

“You’re insane,” Bucky says. “You’re insane and stupid, Steven Grant Rogers.”

“But I’m yours.”

Bucky laughs, bright and sunny, in spite of his red-rimmed eyes. “You’re right about that.”

“I missed you Buck. I missed you so much.” Steve says, so soft. 

“I love you,” Bucky says. 

Steve does not do anything for a minute. He listens to the hum of the engine and the sound of Bucky’s breathing and lets himself absorb the words. 

“I love you too.”

— — —

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

— **E.E Cummings,** **_i carry your heart with me(i carry it in)_ **

— — —

### Outskirts of Birnin Zana, Wakanda — 2017 

“Steve!”

Steve hears Bucky call for him from where he’s petting one of the goats. Steve reaches the bottom of the hill and falls into Bucky’s arms. Steve slumps in Bucky’s hold and Bucky rests his chin on Steve’s head. 

“Tough mission?” Bucky asks quietly, pressing a kiss in his hair. 

“Nah, not too bad,” Steve says. 

“Liar. And take off your shoes before coming inside. I don’t want any filth in our house.”

 _Our_ house. The word makes Steve sizzle pleasantly. They have a decent-sized house that Shuri had fixed up for them, better than anything they had in Brooklyn, of course. It looks rustic on the outside but is far from. In fact, it’s ridiculously full of tech. Bucky is constantly starstruck. 

Steve picks up the remains of a small white flower from where it’s fallen into the grass. He rolls the broken petals in between his pointer and middle fingers.

“You comin’ Stevie?” Bucky calls from inside. 

Steve grins. “Gimme a sec!” 

As soon as Steve steps inside Bucky kisses him. “Someone’s antsy,” Steve says. 

“Yeah yeah, yuk it up,” Bucky says. “Go shower, you smell like a barnyard.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Bucky pinches his side. 

“Ow! Motherfucke—”

“ _Shower_.”

Steve takes a shower. He watches the thin layer of grime over his body wash off and run into the drain. When he’s done, he dries his hair and puts on a t shirt and sweats. He feels better already. 

He opens the bathroom door where he finds one of their cats, a white one named Alpine, staring at him. 

“Were you _watching_ me?” Steve asks the cat. 

Alpine pounces and bites his leg.

“What did I _tell_ you about biting people!” Steve says, offended. 

Alpine meows. Steve picks her up and carries her to the living room. 

Bucky has the second half of their demonic duo seated in his lap, purring loudly — a black cat named Natasha. Her big green eyes remind both of them too much of Nat — and they know better than to make her animal counterpart one of the _goats._ Nat would throw them into another dimension.

Steve can’t believe that this all really happened. That they really have a house and two cats, a studio where Steve gets to paint and books scattered all over the table where Bucky takes college courses. He’s so fucking proud of him. 

Steve drops Alpine on the couch and heads to the kitchen to see if there are any snacks. 

“Hey, sweetheart?” Bucky says absently. “There’s some Kit Kats in the snack drawer of the fridge.”

“Thanks Buck!” Steve calls out. 

“Share with me!”

“Ugh, _fine._ ”

“See if I buy you chocolates with that attitude, mister.”

Steve walks back to the couch. He plops down next to Bucky, who has both cats on him and is eyeing them conspiratorially like he’s The Cat Whisperer or something. 

“You sound like your Ma,” Steve giggles. Bucky kisses his temple. 

“God bless. I instill fear into everyone within a twelve mile radius.”

Steve hands him a Kit Kat and tips his head onto his shoulder. 

— — —

In the morning, Steve wakes up with both of Bucky’s legs wedged in between Steve’s and Bucky’s entire torso draped over Steve’s awkwardly overturned abdomen. 

In an attempt to extricate himself from the precarious position, he turns himself 180 degrees. This worsens the situation as now Bucky’s entire body weight is pressing into Steve’s back. 

“Fuck it,” Steve says. He shakes Bucky awake. 

“What the fuck?” is the first thing Bucky asks when his eyes open. 

“You couldn’t have picked a more standard-issue position to cuddle me in?”

Bucky groans. Steve elbows him. “No. You’re not goin’ back to sleep. It’s—” Steve checks the time. “Twelve in the afternoon.”

“Who’re you, my Ma?” 

“I wish. Now get up.”

Bucky doesn’t move. 

Steve stands up and pulls on Bucky’s arm. “Get up get up get up get up get up—”

“ _Okay_ , I’m up! You fucking _menace_. Why does anyone put up with you.”

“Beats me!” Steve says cheerily. 

They eat french toast for breakfast and Steve braids Bucky’s hair. They visit T’Challa and bake a batch of peanut butter cookies. The cookies are a disaster—burnt and impossible to bite into. Steve and Bucky end up eating peanut butter out of the jar. 

Steve is the happiest he has ever been. 

— — —

Steve remembers his old drawings of rings and immediately sets into action to get them made. He sketches them quickly — but accurately (perfect recall) onto paper. He calls T’Challa. 

The rings are ready before the end of the week. Steve puts them in his pocket. 

They are watching a movie together, leaning on each other and smiling at the screen when suddenly Steve gets up. 

“Huh?” Bucky asks. 

Steve gets down on a knee. 

“Oh fuck,” Bucky says. 

Steve pulls out the box with the ring. It’s a simple gold band with an engraving inside. Bucky sniffles when he gets a closer look at the inscription. _End of the line._

“I’m pretty sure all my reasons for this are glaringly obvious here, so, no need to spend ten years and regale the entirety of our knowing each other. Anyway. James Buchanan Barnes, will you marry me?”

“Wow, that’s sure in the top 10 most romantic proposals I’ve ever received,” Bucky says drily.

“Really? Am I number one?”

Bucky ignores that. “Yes, Steven Grant Dipshit, I will fuckin’ marry you. Also, I don’t have a left arm.”

“So what, honey? You got another arm right there.”

Bucky’s eyes are turning red-rimmed but he doesn’t mention it. Bucky holds his hand out. Steve slips the ring onto his finger, before giving the matching one to Bucky to roll onto his right hand. 

Steve kisses Bucky, hard. 

“Fuck, I love you,” Steve says. 

“I love you too.”

— — —

They get married right there in Wakanda on a warm September’s day. There is a large chocolate-vanilla cake, decorated with white and red fondant roses. Bucky wears a dark tuxedo that fits him like a glove. He ties his hair back and _smiles_ at Steve and Steve thinks that he is the most beautiful person Steve has ever seen in his life. 

Sam is Steve’s best man and Natasha is Bucky’s. As soon as Nat’s weariness of Bucky faded away, they got on like a house on fire. It was kinda scary, the way they ganged up on him. Nat and Bucky staring into his soul is not something he ever wants to witness again. 

Steve is sure that all four of them cry — even though Nat will deny that until she dies. 

T’Challa and Shuri are there, Wanda and Vision, even Scott, sitting and smiling at them. Steve wishes that his Ma was sitting here, smiling at him, eyes bright with unshed tears. He wishes that Winnie and George and Becca and Daisy and Josie were all clustered together and smiling at them. Steve wishes that Peggy and the Howlies were watching them. _But_ _it’s okay,_ Steve thinks. _They’re watching._

“Alright,” Bucky clears his throat. “So, I never wrote down vows or anythin’ because I always knew what I wanted to say to Stevie’s dumb face here. Hi, Steve. I love you. I think that I fell in love with you the second I saw you and I keep finding new ways to adore you. I love you more and more every day. I’m so glad you and I got out second and third chances at life — most people don’t get that. I’m looking forward to the absolute shitshow — shoot, sorry — _mess_ that our life is gonna be. I can’t wait to be a part of it. I love you so much. I can’t wait to finally grow old with you.”

Steve wipes at his eyes. “I don’t think I have anything that nice. I guess I just wanna say that you’re the first and only person I’ve ever loved. Even when I had nothing I had you to keep me floatin’ above water. You mean so much to me. I can’t wait to spend the rest of whatever life we’ve got together. I’m gonna keep lovin’ you ‘til death do us part ‘n all that. Thanks for givin’ me a shot, Buck.”

Bucky smiles at him, cheeks red, eyes soft. It is Steve’s favorite smile. 

Steve thinks that they will walk down the sidewalk, Bucky’s hand in his, matching rings gleaming on their fingers. They will come home to their own house with their two cats. Bucky will keep taking college classes and become an astrophysicist and Steve will stay home in his studio and paint. Steve will dance softly to the radio with Bucky — without stepping on his toes. Steve is going to stay alive long enough for Bucky’s hair to fade to a stark grey and for happy lines to appear on his face. They are going to get to grow old together. 

They will have a life.

And then they kiss, right there, for the entire world to see. 

Steve laughs, clear as a bell.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in three days because I was bored and I got stuck on a scene in one of my other, longer fics. I tend to reuse concepts in my fics so some ideas of this are recycled material. This was also a style experimentation for me. I hope you enjoyed :) 
> 
> edit: i don’t know what happened but a bunch of periods and commas and quotation marks got displaced so Sorry about that :( 
> 
> HISTORICAL NOTES:
> 
> \- Eight-pagers (also known as Tijuana Bibles, Jiggs-and-Maggie books, Tillie-and-Mac books, jo-jo books, bluesies, gray-backs, blue-bibles, and two-by-fours) were typically eight page palm-sized pornographic cartoons, usually obscene parodies of popular comics. Their popularity peaked during the Great Depression.  
> \- Chesterfield cigarettes were a very popular brand - they were the kinds of cigarettes mostly included in K-Rations  
> \- Chocolate egg creams were a popular beverage that contained milk, seltzer, and chocolate syrup (they originally contained fresh eggs and cream - but that was changed in the 20th century due to the lack of profit)  
> \- The Stark Expo is in Queens, not Brooklyn  
> \- Luckies (or Lucky Strikes) were the most popular brand of cigarettes during World War 2 - however, they were not usually included in K-Rations  
> \- Asthma cigarettes (past medication for asthma) - were hallucinogenic and sometimes didn’t contain tobacco/nicotine. They did have a variety of herbs and other ingredients such as stramonium leaves, tea leaves, chestnut leaves, gum benzoin, and kola nuts.  
> \- I would include what a standard K-Ration was - but I figured I’d leave y’all with a much more interesting and thorough resource: http://www.kration.info/ - Check it out!  
> \- Paranoia is a party game - and super fun too :)  
> \- The Song of Achilles is such an amazing book - read it!  
> \- Birnin Zana is the capital of Wakanda  
> \- If you’re wondering what the inspo for Alpine is - she’s in the comics :) Bucky has a cat named Alpine


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